The Gift
by Melusine6619
Summary: A miscarriage nearly rips Marcus and Susan's marriage apart when she retreats into old habits. For the purposes of this story, I've made them an established couple.
1. Chapter 1

This was one of the first stories I ever wrote and posted anywhere back in 1998. It was originally archived here under the pen name OldHistory. It was lost when one of my floppy discs ate everything and I had to retrieve it from a fanfic list archive. I've fixed the formatting, so hopefully there are no weird characters or line breaks. There's some sex, but nothing explicit. Melusine

000

Susan Ivanova pulled on her uniform jacket, zipped it up, and tugged it into place. There was no mirror to check the results, but she'd been in Earthforce, and been an officer, long enough to tell almost by instinct whether her appearance passed muster or not. With two quick swipes of her hands, she smoothed her hair back into place and left the exam room in search of Dr. Franklin.

He looked up and smiled at her as she sat down across from him at his desk. "The results are positive. You're pregnant."

Susan studied him, her gaze sharp. "Are you sure? It's just that we've been trying . . ." She blushed slightly as Stephen's grin broadened.

"It's one-hundred percent positive," the doctor told her. "But I can run it again if you want."

"No, no, that's all right."

Pregnant. She was really pregnant. She almost couldn't believe it. But now that she thought about it, she should have known from her symptoms. She had just never connected them all together to come to the logical conclusion. When she'd missed her period, she blamed it on stress. Being station commander was a trying job, to say the least. She was tired, but she blamed that on lack of sleep. She never slept well when Marcus was away, and he had been gone for two weeks. Then she'd gotten sick. She dismissed it as something he'd eaten. The second, third, and fourth time, she thought she might have the flu. Now she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

She couldn't wait to tell Marcus. He'd be as happy as she was. They both wanted children, even though she found the idea a little scary. Before marrying Marcus, she never considered having a child. Of course, before Marcus, there had never been anyone she wanted to have a child with, never anyone she'd wanted in her life for very long.

"Susan? Are you all right?"

She smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am, Stephen." She stood up to leave, but Stephen indicated that she should sit down. "What?"

"Well, you're a first time mother. There are some things you should know."

He went over nutrition, exercise, what medications she could take, how to combat morning sickness, and on and on until her head was swimming.

"Is that all?"

"For now," Stephen answered. "I want to see you in a month, okay?"

"I'll see you then," she replied.

As soon as she left her office, she headed straight for the quarters and Marcus shared. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she slipped out of her jacket and toed off her shoes. She studied her reflection in the mirror, turning to the side and ran a hand down her still-flat abdomen. She didn't look pregnant, and if Stephen hadn't given her the diagnosis she wouldn't believe she was.

Drawing her shirt from her trousers and holding it out as far the material would go, she tried to imagine how she'd look as the months passed and her abdomen grew rounder. She grimaced in distaste as she pictured wearing those awful Earthforce maternity uniforms. And then she smiled softly as she thought of holding Marcus' child in her arms. Would it be a girl with soft green eyes and thick, dark hair? A boy with her own features? She didn't care either way, and she knew Marcus wouldn't either.

Unable to hold her eyes open any longer, she crawled into bed. She wished Marcus was with her, but he was on a mission, and wouldn't return for another day, maybe two. She sighed and rolled over. She needed his strong arms holding her and his warm breath brushing against her neck to be able to sleep well. It was going to be a long two days.

000

Marcus walked into a quiet apartment. At first he wondered where Susan was. He'd gone by her office only to find it empty. She hadn't been in C&C either. She had to be here. Holding the roses he'd traded a few favors for, he strolled into the bedroom to find his wife curled up in the middle of their bed. Her face was soft with sleep, and a light smile touched her lips. He bent to kiss her cheek, and she stirred, her eyes opening.

"Marcus." She sat up abruptly, throwing her arms around him. "I. . ."

She tore out of his embrace and ran for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just as her stomach spasmed again and expelled the remnants of her lunch. Hands caught her hair and lifted it back from her face as her stomach heaved again and again, disgorging bile now. Susan closed her eyes in misery, willing her nausea to settle.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Marcus asked in concern as he pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. "Are you sick?"

"Nothing that a few more months won't cure," she said shakily after she'd rinsed her mouth and drank a glass of water. She met his worried gaze in the mirror and waited for comprehension to dawn.

At first he couldn't imagine what she meant, then his whole face split into a grin as he understood exactly what she was saying. His eyes glowed with tenderness as he placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck. "A baby?"

"Yes."

"When?"

She leaned back into him, feeling his warmth and his strength. "Stephen says I'm a month and a half along, and that I'm due in June."

"You'll be a beautiful mother," he murmured against her skin.

_Beautiful?_ Susan grimaced. Right now her face was puffy from her body's exertion, and it looked as if she had burst a few capillaries in the process. Little red dots decorated her face around her eyes and even on the lids. She could just imagine how she'd look later on, her belly round with child, her ankles swollen, her breasts dripping milk. Oh yes, she'd be a beautiful sight. Still, their baby would be worth every bit of discomfort she would endure. A part of them both, a new little person for them to love. "A gift," as Rabbi Koslov used to say.

"Come on," Marcus urged softly, interrupting her thoughts. "I'll make you a snack. Then, if you feel up to it, we can go out to celebrate."

000

Susan entered the bedroom later that night and stopped short. Rose petals were scattered everywhere, along the floor, over the bed. Scented candles were lit, emitting a tranquil glow and a subtle hint of vanilla. It never ceased to amaze her, the things Marcus could obtain, even if most of the time she didn't want to know how. Now she smiled, feeling a rush of anticipation; he obviously had something special planned. She settled on the bed, and it wasn't long before Marcus entered the room, wearing only a pair of loose pajama bottoms, his hands behind his back. After setting two bowls down on the night stand, he joined her where she sat and urged her to relax against him, between his spread legs. He nuzzled her neck, his beard and mustache sending shivers coursing through her body.

"I've missed you," she sighed.

"I've missed you too." He buried his face in her long dark hair and breathed in deeply. His half hard cock twitched again at her clean scent and the feel of her soft skin where her body pressed close to his.

Susan turned her head up toward his for a kiss and caught sight of the bowls where Marcus had left them. "What's that?"

Marcus' smile turned rakish. "I thought you might like strawberries and whipped cream."

"You shouldn't spoil me so much." She accepted a strawberry, licking the cream off his fingers as she did so.

"It's my pleasure, sweetheart."

He continued to feed her strawberries, the gentle suction of her mouth as she licked his fingers clean driving him crazy, just like she knew it would. But two could play that game. He moved from behind her, dipped a finger into the cream, and raked it over her chin. Susan blinked at him in surprise as he licked her chin clean. The next dollop landed just above the very low-cut neckline of her gown.

"Marcus, what are you . . ." Her voice trailed off as he bent his head to lick at it, sliding the negligee aside as far as he could without tearing it. He cupped one firm breast, gently stroking the nipple to attention. "Marcus."

"Yes, love?"

"Get this damn gown off me."

He chuckled softly at her impatience. "There's no hurry, love. We have all night."

"Oh yeah?" She slid her hand down to caress the bulge in his trousers.

Marcus gasped aloud. She always knew how to get her way. Without another word, he dragged Susan's nightgown up over her head, tossed it aside, dipped a hand again into the whipped cream, and then smeared it onto her breasts. "Now for _my _dessert."

He gently held one firm mound and began to lick the cream off in long, slow laps. With his tongue he moved over every inch of her breast before closing his mouth over and tenderly sucking the nipple. He savored the feel of the hard flesh in his mouth, firm and round against his tongue. He felt her shudder beneath him and her hands clench in his hair. "Mmm. Now for this one," he breathed as he turned his attention to the other breast and repeated the same torturously languid treatment.

Susan closed her eyes and breathed in sharply with each movement of his tongue. The cream had been cold on her breasts, making them tighten and her nipples pearl to hardness. Now Marcus was making them even more so. She caught her hands in his thick hair and moaned, parting her thighs wantonly. Her voice was ragged with need as she whispered his name, begging.

Marcus raised his head, moved over her and covered her lips with his. She tasted of strawberries and cream: slightly tart and divinely sweet. He groaned at the taste, and her tongue darted inside his mouth to make love to his own. He slid his hands down her body, stroking every inch of skin he could reach. Susan did the same, moving her hands from his hair to caress the taut muscles of his back. He eased her back on the bed so that she was lying amidst the rose petals, placing feather-soft kisses on her forehead, nose, cheeks, ears, neck, and finally her lips again. He gazed at her for a long moment, and with a devilish gleam in his eyes, trailed a path of whipped cream from the valley between her breasts to just above her panties.

He began at the top of the trail, using his tongue to make tiny circles and zigzags. Inch by inch, he lapped up the cream with excruciating slowness, easing his mouth to the left and right to nip lightly at her skin before returning to the sweet path he'd laid out. Susan writhed on the bed and arched toward him again, quivering with pleasure and anticipation as his lips moved inevitably lower. She nearly came off the bed as he closed his mouth over her through the silky, damp material of her panties. He smiled at her reaction, loving her uninhibited response to his attentions.

She kissed him long and deep, her tongue thrusting hungrily into his mouth. When they drew apart from the kiss, his eyes locked with hers as if he couldn't bear to look away. He traced her face lovingly with a callused fingertip. "You are my life."

Then he lowered his hands to her thighs, opening her further, took himself in hand, and guided his cock to her entrance. He eased inside her, savoring the warmth and the wetness of her walls as she clasped him in welcome. After the first ecstatic shock, he leaned forward, supporting his body above hers with hands on either side of her head. And he began to move.

She reached up to caress his shoulders and traced down his lean sides as he moved with infinite tenderness within her. He worshipped her slowly and gently, but it was not at all what she wanted. She loved his tender side, but right now she wanted the wild man she'd come to know, the one who lifted her up on tabletops in the heat of passion, the man who would lock her office door and fuck her over her desk. She arched her hips up to meet him, but he stilled her with another shake of his head as he continued to move in smooth, even, achingly slow strokes.

She knew that he knew what he was doing to her. And what he was doing was driving her crazy. She wanted to scream at him that she wasn't going to break, but she didn't. She wrapped her legs tightly about his waist, lifting her body to meet his, to seek everything he had to give. And then, just when she thought he was going to go like this all night, he thrust harder and more rapidly, until her entire body tensed in anticipation. Little tremors began in her core, spread to every digit, to her scalp.

They came together in a blinding rush of heat that left them shuddering and exhausted, sweat-drenched skin sliding together as Marcus rolled to his side and drew her with him. They held each other close, whispering endearments as their heartbeats calmed and their breath evened out.

And as they lay locked in each other's arms, it seemed that nothing in the universe could tear them apart.


	2. Chapter 2

Quick note: I should have mentioned when posting the first chapter that this is post Season 4, so I went ahead and gave Susan her promotion to Captain. And obviously Marcus survived.

000

"Captain, are you all right?"

Susan winced as the dull ache in her back slowly increased in severity, but she schooled her expression as she glanced over at Corwin. "I'm fine. Carry on, Lieutenant."

She turned to leave C and C, thinking it might be a good idea to go by Med-Lab. This couldn't be right, could it? This latest cramp was stronger than the others had been. Stephen hadn't said anything about cramping. She was almost at the door when another knot of pain coursed through her, this one worse than anything yet. Raising her hand, she tapped her comm-link to call Dr. Franklin, just in case. That was when she felt it, the wet, sticky gush, and suddenly, horror stricken, she realized just what her body was doing.

000

Marcus wiped the sweat off his brow as he made his way into Med-Lab. He'd been in the middle of a training session when he received an urgent call from Stephen. Susan had been rushed in, and things did not look good. He'd run through three levels and just as many corridors to make it there. He slowed down to a walk, stopping momentarily to regain his composure. And then he rushed into the unusually quiet facility.

The first person he saw was Stephen. The doctor shook his head sadly and then lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. There was nothing we could do. She lost the baby."

Marcus flinched as Stephen's words sank in. It couldn't be true, could it? They'd lost the baby. And Susan . . . She'd be devastated. She'd been so happy at the prospect of becoming a mother. A little nervous, but happy.

"How is she?" the Ranger asked.

"As well as can be expected," Dr. Franklin replied, indicating with a nod of his head which room she was in. "You can see her now."

Marcus went to her, his insides twisting with sympathy and despair. She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, tubes connected to her body. Her face was pale, and as he stood watching her, a tear pooled at the corner of one eye and trickled down her cheek. She looked so vulnerable, lost and uncertain. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her, tell her everything would be all right. Instead he reached for her hand and held it tightly, a thumb stroking the back of her own hand as he waited for her to notice him, but her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling.

"Sweetheart?"

At last she looked at him. "I lost the baby, Marcus."

"I know," he whispered as he bent to brush her lips softly with his. "I'm so sorry." He knew it was inadequate, but he could think of nothing else that could even remotely describe how he felt. "We'll get through this. I'm here for you, you know that. Is there anything you need, anything I can do?"

She stared at the ceiling again. She wanted to withdraw into herself and hide from everyone. In all her life, she had never felt more miserable and angry than she did now. She'd been so happy about the baby, and now it was gone, torn from her body just as she was really beginning to believe that she _could_ be a mother. Spontaneous abortion, Stephen had said-a nice, neat medical term. But that didn't describe how she felt inside, torn apart, empty. Empty. He'd said that sometimes these things happened; it was nothing she'd done to cause it.

But Susan knew. God had decided that she was too happy, and now it was time for her to hurt again. She should have known better than to let herself be happy. It wasn't for her. Not for Susan Ivanova. Hot, bitter tears coursed down her cheeks, fell unchecked onto the sterile med-gown. It was so unfair. Hadn't she been through enough? Why did she have to hurt so much? Why?

"Susan?" Marcus' quiet voice penetrated her consciousness again.

"I need to be alone now, Marcus," she whispered finally, her voice dull. He deserved better than her. She was toxic, destroying everyone she had a relationship with almost as much as she destroyed herself. It was too late for her, but not for him. Besides, what could he help her with? He couldn't put their baby back inside her. It was too late. It was all too late.

Marcus' heart rebelled at the thought of leaving her alone. She was his wife, his lover, his friend. She needed him, and he needed her. They'd just lost their child. They had to deal with this together. "I can't leave you alone. I _won't_ leave you alone."

"Marcus." There was an edge to her voice. "Please. I don't need you here looking at me like that. You're making things worse."

He stared at her in silence for several long minutes. Of all the things he would have expected her to say, this was the last. He felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. "Susan, you can't mean-."

"I do. Please go, Marcus."

He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay with her, comfort her, grieve with her. The loss belonged to both of them. So why was she pushing him away? He closed his eyes. Maybe she did need to be alone, but Gods, he didn't want to leave her. What should he do? Finally he relented. If she wanted to be alone, he'd give her that time, no matter how much it hurt him.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "All right. I'll go. Just remember, I love you, Susan."

He walked out slowly, reeling from the double blow of the loss of their baby and Susan's rejection. What had he done wrong? He almost ran into Stephen before he saw him.

The doctor looked at Marcus, sighed, and motioned him to his office. Sometimes it was difficult to separate himself from the detached physician he was supposed to be. "How is she taking it?" he asked as he settled down in his chair.

"She's taking it hard. How else could she take it? She'd already bought an outfit, and now. . ." His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

Stephen leaned back in his chair for a minute. "Susan's strong, so she'll recover physically soon enough. The difficult part will be the emotional recovery."

"What can I do for her?"

"Just be there for her."

Marcus glanced toward the Susan's room. She hadn't moved since he'd walked out; she still lay staring at the ceiling. "I'll always be there for her. Trouble is she doesn't seem to want me."

Stephen patted his arm, a gesture of sympathy and friendship. "She's just gone through something very traumatic. It'll take some time."

Marcus held his head in his hands. He didn't know whether Susan would be able to deal with yet another loss. She'd lost so many that she loved, and now their baby as well. It was bloody unfair. His shoulders shook with grief and worry, and when he finally looked back up at Stephen, tears glistened in his eyes. "I hope you're right, Stephen."


	3. Chapter 3

"How are you, Susan?"

"I'm fine, Stephen," she answered.

He studied her over the data pad as he tapped onto it. She was pale, and the circles under her eyes were dark. She looked as if she'd lost weight. He made a mental note to speak to Marcus about letting her sink to such a state. And speaking of Marcus, Stephen thought it odd that he wasn't here with his wife. Something important must be going on-he was always the last to know-otherwise, Marcus would have come along. He started to ask Susan, then thought better of it. From the look on her face, she probably wouldn't answer anyway. "Let's see how things look, okay?"

"God, I hate this part," she mumbled, lying back on the bed and placing her feet into the stirrups. At least someone had been thoughtful enough to line them with faux fur, easing one of the many things that she found uncomfortable about this.

Stephen smiled faintly. "I've never heard of anyone lining up for them. Lillian could have examined you, you know, if it would have made you feel better."

"It doesn't matter, Stephen."

From her attitude and her flat voice, he had the idea that a lot didn't matter to her lately. Were she and Marcus fighting? Was it any of his business, anyway, friends or not? He sighed inwardly forced his mind back to the task at hand. "All right, just relax . . ."

Twenty minutes later he looked up as Susan entered his tiny office. Silently, she accepted the chair he offered. She didn't meet his eyes, but instead fixed her gaze on the wall behind him. He spoke first. "Everything looks good. You and Marcus can . . . well, resume relations, and so forth. Do you want another implant, or are you and Marcus going to try again?"

Susan said nothing. Did she? Did it matter?

"You still haven't accepted my offer to get you counseling or into a support group," Stephen said. "Why?"

"I don't have time for it. I'm busy running this station."

Stephen glared at her for a moment. He didn't know who was worse, the Captain or her equally stubborn husband. He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I think I mentioned to you once before that your health, and that includes your emotional health, isn't something you can take lightly. I don't know what's going on at home between you and Marcus-."

"And it's none of your business," Susan snapped. She stood and tugged her jacket down. "Is that all?"

"No, that's not all. I thought I was your friend, Susan, not just your doctor. I'm worried about you. I know that losing the baby was hard on you, and I know you aren't over it, but you need to make an effort to get some help. Talk to someone. Talk to Marcus," he begged. "Let him help you if you don't want to let anyone else."

"I don't need marriage advice from you," she retorted. "Are we done?"

Stephen frowned. "All right. I only want to help. I guess we're done."

"Good." Susan rose, turned on her heel, and walked out, her back stiff.

000

Marcus waited for her in bed, an open book in his hands. He stared at it blankly, unable to comprehend the meaning of the words on the page. It had been nearly two months since Susan's miscarriage, two long, frustrating, grief-filled months. He had followed Stephen's advice and waited for Susan to turn to him. She hadn't; she'd turned everything back inside herself, the way she'd done when he'd first met her. She rebuffed his every attempt to get her to talk about her feelings. It was as if he no longer existed in her world. He hated to see her like this, and he hated the fact that she still didn't seem to want him. More than anything, he wanted to comfort her. He wanted to hold her tightly, reassure her of his love, his unswerving belief in her, his need of her. He wanted to break through the walls she'd been building up again.

He set the book aside when Susan entered the room. He watched as she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair, then removed her robe and placed it on the foot of the bed, never meeting his steady gaze once. She had forgone her thigh-length negligees for a long, loose, high-necked flannel nightgown. She looked sexy as hell to him, and he felt a surge of desire so painful he had to bite his lower lip to suppress the groan that rose up from the pit of his stomach.

"How did your appointment go?" he asked. He wouldn't have had to if she had let him go with her. He wanted to be as much a part of this as he would have been her pregnancy had it continued. Instead, she'd shoved his concern aside and gone to her checkup on her own.

She hesitated, one hand on the top of the comforter. "Fine. Everything was fine." She lay down as far away from him as possible. Marcus reached out to touch her, and she stiffened. Deep inside, she wanted him to touch her, to hold her, but she couldn't make herself yield. She couldn't lose herself in the harbor of his arms. The pain was still too fresh, too raw. She wasn't even sure if she could make love again, in spite of Stephen's assurance otherwise. She was afraid of that emotional intimacy now, afraid that she would let go of her feelings, afraid that she would be even more vulnerable than she was already.

Marcus drew his hand back when he felt her body tense beneath his touch. Once she'd leaned into his caresses, but not now. He closed his eyes, hoping that would block out the pain of her continued rejection. It didn't. Every night he'd tried to comfort her, and every night she'd rebuffed him. He was more than frustrated. He simply wanted to hold her, and she acted as if he were making some demand on her. Why couldn't she accept his touch for what it was-an offer of solace. He tried not to think of all the times she'd clung to him as they made love, as if she couldn't get enough of him, as if she were trying to crawl inside him. He tried not to remember how they'd lain wrapped tightly in each other's arms afterward. She kept pushing him away, and he didn't know why. He only knew that it hurt.

He leaned up on his elbow to look into her face. Her expression was composed, resigned, flat. He'd seen that look so often in the past and hadn't let it deter him, but now it tore him apart. "Susan?"

"I don't feel like sex, Marcus, even if Stephen gave the go ahead," she said stiffly.

"I didn't say a word about sex," he said, throwing his lean body flat on the bed again. "I'm not an insensitive clod, you know. Damn it, Susan, how can you think that that's all I want? I just want to hold you. We've hardly touched since the miscarriage. I miss holding you. I miss being close to you. I'm not saying I don't miss the sex, mind you. I do-every bloody day. You're an incredible, giving lover. But I can wait. I think I've more than proven that." He could drive nails right now, but he could wait.

He turned his head to look at her, but she'd rolled to her side, even further away from him.

"Goddamn it!"

He threw himself out of bed in one angry, jerking motion. Pillow in hand, he stalked out into the living room. He decided that right now the couch sounded damn comfortable. He didn't know how much more of this he could stand. He couldn't be near her without wanting to touch her, but she continued to refuse even that sign of affection.

Sleep eluded him for several hours. He paced for a while, then sat on the sofa, his chin propped on one hand, the Minbari fighting pike extending and retracting in the other. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen back on his nervous habit. It might have been an unconscious sexual metaphor, but it helped him to think.

Was he not being patient enough? Understanding enough? Was he demanding anything from her without realizing it? He didn't think so, and he resented her implication. All he wanted was to hold her, to let her cry on his shoulder, and wipe her tears away. If she didn't come to terms with losing the baby, what then? Could he live with her coldness indefinitely? No.

Could he live without her? No. He had no choice. There had to be some way to help her to grieve, to accept this loss and move on. But what?

Inside the bedroom, Susan lay staring at the wall, silent tears running down her face.


	4. Chapter 4

Marcus sighed as he entered their quarters. Another week had passed, with no change in his wife. She had, if anything, gotten worse. Once again, Susan sat on the sofa, a shot glass of vodka in hand, and an empty bottle on the table in front of her. She looked as if she'd been at it for some time. He supposed he couldn't blame here. There were times he wanted to do the same thing. But this was going too far. Didn't she know what she was doing to herself, to him, to their marriage? Apparently not, and that ate at him constantly. He had been patient; he had tried to understand. Now his patience was worn thin.

He glanced at the chronometer. It was 2000 hours. "Have you eaten?" he asked softly, trying to keep his exasperation out of his voice. "I could order take-out."

"No. I'm not hungry. You go ahead," she replied, sipping her vodka, all the while avoiding his gaze. She didn't want to see what she knew she'd see in his eyes: tenderness, concern, grief, rebuke, and most of all, love. Always love. How could he love her?

He stood in front of her, his body tense. "How long are you going to keep this up?" he demanded now, gesturing toward the bottle. "Is this the way you're going to deal with every problem we have?"

"You can't understand what I'm going through, Marcus," Susan whispered dully, reaching for the bottle again, then frowning when she found it empty.

"If you told me I might, but you won't talk to me. Every time I try to talk about it you just clam up and turn away. How am I supposed to understand? I don't know what you're feeling or thinking about anything. I'm tired of being shut out."

"If you don't like it you know where the door is," she answered, tossing back the drink and wiping her mouth with her hand.

Marcus paled. "Don't push me away, Susan. You can't do it. Not now. Not after everything we've been to each other. Damn it, Susan! I can't go back to being on the outside of your heart. I won't let you keep these walls up, do you hear me?" But even as he said it, he wondered if it was too late. He wanted to shake her, anything, to get her to look at him, to see the fire in her eyes again.

He knelt before her, gripping her hands tightly in his, compelling her to look into his eyes. "_You_ didn't lose the baby, Susan. _We_ lost the baby. You seem to have forgotten that, but it was my baby too, and it hurts." He closed his eyes against the pain. "I love you. I need you. I want to help you through this."

"This is my problem, Marcus. I'll deal with it in my own time. I managed to deal with things before you, you know."

That did it. He'd had more than enough of her walls, enough of her silence. He stood up abruptly. "There are two of us in this marriage in case you've forgotten, and I've been here for you, hurting as much as you have, waiting for you to realize that you need me as much as I need you. But of course you haven't noticed. You've been too busy throwing yourself into work and getting reacquainted with Mr. Smirnoff here!"

Angrily, he picked up the empty bottle and flung it across the room, where it landed with a dull thump. He stood there for several more seconds, watching her, waiting for her to yell back at him, and praying with all his might that she would. If she punched the hell out of him, all the better.

He might as well have done nothing for all the response he received. She followed the progress of the bottle with her eyes, then looked back at him, then the remaining dregs of liquor in her glass.

"Damn you!" he rasped. He clamped his lips tight and closed his eyes, trying in vain to keep his anger from exploding even further. It didn't work. He reached for her, and holding her arms tightly, he lifted her up, forcing her to look into his eyes again. He shook her slightly. "Look at

me! Does our relationship mean anything at all to you? Does it? Do you only want me on the good days? Is that it? Tell me. Tell me what the hell you want from me!"

She didn't answer. He released her arms so abruptly that she fell back onto the sofa. He knelt before her again, ashamed of losing his temper with her, afraid that he'd hurt her. "Susan?"

She remained silent. It was as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said, hadn't felt his touch. With a look of exasperation he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

Just as it opened, Susan roused herself enough to ask, "Where are you going?"

"Does it matter?"

The door slid closed before she could answer: "Yes."

000

The door chime sounded again as Stephen made his way into the outer room of his quarters. "Who is it?" he croaked, glancing at the time to see that it was midnight.

"It's Marcus."

The door slid open to allow the Ranger access. "I need a place to crash, Stephen, if you don't mind."

"No, no I don't mind," the doctor answered, noting the disheveled appearance of his friend. He caught a whiff of alcohol. "What's wrong with your place?"

Marcus hung his head sadly. He was tired and still upset. He'd walked for hours hoping that that would calm him down, then gone to a bar to get drunk. He'd had a few drinks, but the image of Susan climbing into her bottle had stopped him from following her in. So he'd come here. What was wrong with his place? Everything. "Even the couch is too close to her," he tried to explain. "I can't stand it anymore."

"Are you two fighting?" Stephen asked, pulling out sheets and blankets from a closet. He found a pillow and dropped the whole pile onto the sofa. "Well?"

"Fighting? I'd be happy if we were fighting. At least I'd know that I had my Susan back. Right now she's just a bloody automaton. She gets up and goes to work, then comes home and goes to bed. In between she drinks herself senseless. She won't talk to me, she won't look at me, she won't . . ." Marcus smacked his closed fist against his forehead in frustration. He finally uttered the words that had been tormenting him for days now. "Maybe all this is just an excuse; maybe she doesn't care anymore. Maybe you were right, were just too different for this to work out."

"Bullshit, Marcus!" Stephen rounded on his friend. "Forget what I said before. I was wrong. You've been good for her. I've never seen either of you happier . . . until lately that is, but you'll recover and be stronger for it. Just don't let her drive you away!"

"I don't want to let her but what choice do I have if that's what she wants?"

Stephen shook his head. "You'll feel better in the morning. And when you get home, pin her down and make her talk to you."

"Easier said than done."

"She does have a temper, I'll grant you that," Stephen said. "But she loves you. I know she does." He stifled a yawn. "Look, I have an early shift, so I'll see you later." He started for his bedroom.

"Stephen," Marcus called. The doctor turned around. "Thanks."

"Any time, buddy. Any time."


	5. Chapter 5

Susan stared, unseeing, at the data crystals and flimsies in front of her. She couldn't concentrate on her work this morning, no matter how hard she tried. Marcus hadn't slept in their bed the last few days. Instead, he seemed to prefer the sofa, and last night, he'd stayed God knows where. In spite of the state she'd been in when he'd left, she'd known that. And it hurt more than she cared to admit. Ever since they'd been together, they'd never slept apart by choice. Or maybe she hadn't really given him a choice. She thought back over the last few weeks. She hadn't exactly been warm and welcoming, and she'd spurned his attempts to talk to her and comfort her. Maybe she had been unfair to him by keeping her grief to herself, but she couldn't seem to stop turning away from him. It was a vicious cycle that she couldn't bring herself out of. She frowned and put her head in her hands.

"Susetchka."

She looked up. "Uncle Yossel. I didn't know you were coming here," she said. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and her smile of welcome faded. "He called you, didn't he? He had no right to do that."

The big, bluff Russian rabbi leveled her with his steady gaze. Marcus hadn't exaggerated. She looked awful. She was taking the miscarriage hard. "He had every right. He is your husband. He loves you very much, and he's worried about you. And for that matter, why didn't you call your old friend, eh?"

She ignored his words as she worked herself up into a regular Ivanova fury. "It doesn't matter. He should have consulted me. He should have. . . He had no business going behind my back! And I'm doing just fine. I don't need his, or anyone else's, help."

Unimpressed, the rabbi interrupted her tirade. "Susan Ivanova Cole, you listen to me. You can listen to me as a friend, or as a rabbi, I don't care which, but you *will* listen. It's time you grew up. Yes, grew up." He ignored her raised eyebrows and her open mouth as she stared at him.

"I don't need your lectures," she said.

"I think you do. You know I love you like a daughter. I only have your best interests at heart."

Susan lowered her eyes. "I know."

The Rabbi nodded once. "Good. Now listen to me. You are married to a very good man. You can't deal with problems that concern both of you on your own. It will only make things worse. And it has, hasn't it? He is worried sick about you. I know he is hurting as well, but his deepest concern is for you. You were lucky to find each other. Don't be foolish enough to drive him away."

Susan could only stare at the man she'd known all her life, the man she called friend. She couldn't believe he was admonishing her like this. But he was right, she realized. "Uncle Yossel . . ."

"Save your words for your husband. I'm sorry, Susan. I only spoke harshly because you needed it," he apologized.

"I guess I did, didn't I?" she admitted. "I've made a mess of things. What do I do? I don't even know how to start putting the pieces back together."

"Tell *him* that, Susetchka. He will understand."

"I hope so."

"I know so," he answered confidently. He'd met Marcus before the wedding and had been impressed by his strength of character, his tenderness toward Susan, and his firm resolve. What other sort of man would wait so long for the woman he loved to make up her mind about him? "I must go, my child. I want to speak with Marcus as well. I will see you before I return to Earth, yes?"

"Yes, of course," she nodded. "Thank you, Uncle Yossel."

He beamed at her, then turned on his heel and left.

Susan closed her eyes for several long minutes as she repeated the conversation in her mind. When she opened them again they lit on the wedding picture that graced a corner of her desk. Two happy faces stared at her, almost mockingly. She lifted a hand to trace the outline of Marcus' face. Was he hurting as much as she was? Did he need her to comfort him? Of course he was. He'd said so. But she'd been too blinded by her own misery to see that.

He'd given her so much: friendship, understanding, joy, love. He'd offered over and over to share her burden. And she had been pushing him away because . . . well, because she'd always pushed people away. She'd wanted to protect him, but she'd been so used to being on her own that she thought she didn't need anyone. But he wasn't just anyone. He'd never been just anyone. She loved him. Needed him. But could she reach out to him now, after all this time?

000

Rabbi Koslov watched the younger man with interest as he worked out with the Minbari weapon. He was obviously trying to work off a great deal of anger, regret, and pain. He parried and thrust with supreme concentration, as if, for this short time, he could forget all his troubles in the physical exertion of his kata. The rabbi shook his head sadly. He remembered the joyous ceremony he'd performed for them such a short time ago. He'd never seen a couple more in love, more wrapped up in each other, and now . . . they were falling apart. He hated seeing two people who so obviously belonged together unable to help each other through this challenge, to weave back the strands of their marriage. It broke his heart.

Marcus noticed him as he whirled away from his imaginary opponent. He collapsed his pike, wiped the sweat off his hands, and retrieved his cloak from the floor. "Rabbi Koslov, thank you for coming so quickly."

"Marcus. It's good to see you again. But please, call me Uncle Yossel, as Susan does." He said all this as he clasped the younger man's hand in his. He saw the pain flicker in the Ranger's eyes. "I have just spoken with her."

"She's angry." Marcus didn't need to ask what his wife's reaction had been. He would gladly take her anger any day. He'd gladly have her yell at him and threaten him. Anything was better than the indifference.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, she is. She's never liked the idea of anyone trying to control her life." He held up his hands to forestall Marcus' denial. "I know you aren't trying to do that, but Susan tends to see things that way. She does not like interference in her life. It is just the way she is."

"I understand that. What I don't understand . . ." He paused, uncertain how to continue. "She told me how her father shut her and Ganya out when their mother died. I thought she realized that it would just make things worse if she did the same to me now. We need each other. I thought she would remember that. I thought . . . I don't know what I thought, really."

The rabbi's eyes clouded in memory of that dark time. That had been a terrible time for everyone in the Ivanov family. He sighed heavily now as he said, "Susan is more like Andrei than she will ever admit. She is a very private person. It's difficult for her to share her feelings. But with you, I have seen a change in her. She is more willing to be open to others. Do not give up on her. She is struggling with herself, even now. Part of her wants to keep her grief hidden, but part of her wants to share it with you. I think she will come to you. Soon. If she does not, go to her, Marcus. She needs you more than s he knows, and I am afraid that she's too proud to come to you."

"I will," Marcus promised. "Thank you, Uncle Yossel."


	6. Chapter 6

Marcus hurried home. With any luck, Susan would be there, and would be ready to talk. If not, he would just have to wait a little longer. He didn't care anymore how long it took. He just wanted her back.

She was there, wearing a knee-length, clingy black dress. She turned as she saw him come in. Her voice refused to obey at first, and when it finally did, it trembled. "Hi, Marcus." She slipped an earring into her lobe and stepped into her sandals. Her hands shook, and her knees weren't doing any better. She felt like a teenager on her first date.

"Hello, Susan." He searched her face. She looked as if she had done some soul-searching of her own. Maybe she had come to the same conclusions he had: that neither one of them were any good without the other, and that it was high time they sorted out their problems. Or she had at least listened to Rabbi Koslov. That thought filled him with hope. At least she hadn't greeted him in a ratty bathrobe, with a bottle in hand. "This is a pleasant surprise. What's the occasion?"

She turned to face him fully and smiled. "We have a party that we have to go to tonight. I'd forgotten all about it, with everything that's happened, but Delenn sent me a message this morning to remind me." Her voice caught slightly on the words, but she forced herself to say them. "They're expecting us."

The party had been planned some time ago, before Susan had miscarried. It was an informal gathering to celebrate the coming of age of the Drazi ambassador's eldest son. As Captain of the station, as well as an honorary member of the Green Clan, Susan had felt obliged to be there. Marcus slapped a palm against his forehead. He had completely forgotten. "Bugger. When?"

"About five minutes ago." She placed a gentle hand on his arm as he turned and headed for the shower. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. "Marcus-." She didn't get any further because he bent his mouth to hers, effectively stifling speech, and thought. Feeling was something else entirely, and she felt that kiss in every dormant nerve ending. She slid her hands around his neck, tugging at the hair and pulling him closer.

His heart slammed into his throat and desire lanced through him as she returned his kiss, yielding . . . Oh, God, it had been so long . . . "Do we really have to go?" he rasped.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," she sighed back.

He trailed his lips down to the pulse at the base of her throat. "Can't we be fashionably late?"

"Oh, God, Marcus, don't make it any harder than it is," she sighed.

"Impossible." He drew her closer to let her see for herself.

She moaned, fighting for control. "Marcus. We really . . . have to . . ."

"All right." He pulled away after one last quick kiss. "I'm going."

000

"Susan, Marcus," John greeted them at the door. "We weren't sure if you'd make it with everything . . . I mean . . . Never mind. I'm glad to see you."

Neither of them noticed the President's discomfiture. "It's good to be here," Susan replied, smiling faintly. "Delenn, it's good to see you."

Marcus bowed to the Minbari woman. "Entil'Zha."

"Marcus, Susan, thank you for coming." Delenn smiled at them both as she noticed that the haggard look the Ranger had worn for the last few weeks had been tempered, at least somewhat, although he still looked tense. The Captain looked better as well, as if she'd pulled herself from a long sleep. Delenn was relieved to see it, as she'd been worried about them both.

As Susan moved to greet the Drazi ambassador, Marcus offered his own greetings in the latter's tongue. Susan glanced at him sharply. "I didn't know you spoke Drazi. Will you ever stop surprising me?"

"I hope not," he whispered.

The soft reply trailed like velvet down her nerve endings and settled in her core. Oh, but she knew that voice well. It was a voice filled with seduction and promise. Her heart began to trill a steadily increasing tempo. Alternate emotions of excitement and nervousness bombarded her. She searched his face, and he smiled softly at her. Any remaining fears melted under that warm regard, leaving only anticipation in its wake. She smiled back while the rest of the room fell away, leaving only him. She would have stood there, too, staring at her husband, if someone hadn't jostled her and brought her back to awareness.

The hours passed too slowly for them both. There were countless people to meet, things to discuss, all delaying their full reconciliation. Somehow, they made it through the evening, even though Marcus felt sure he'd die of frustration before it was polite to leave, and Susan wondered where everyone had come from. John constantly pulled her off to meet new people: Alliance dignitaries she hadn't met yet, some of the ambassadors' spouses. Once, when she'd been pulled away, Stephen cornered Marcus.

"You look a lot better than the last time I saw you. You two work things out?"

"Not quite," he answered, distracted. "But we're getting there."

Susan felt his gaze on her, turned, and stifled a moan of suppressed need. His eyes were hot, hungry, sensual, as they moved from her face to her toes, lingering on her curves. Her hand trembled as it clutched the glass of champagne. She knew that it wasn't the drink that turned her legs into rubber or caused the riot of heat between her thighs. She set her glass aside and walked toward him, meeting him halfway across the room.

He held out his arm, and she curled her hand over the firm muscle. Together they sought out their host and hostess and made their excuses. They were in each other's arms before the door to their quarters slid shut, locking out the world. Their mouths met hungrily, brushing, caressing, tasting. Remembering. Susan closed her eyes as Marcus slid his hands up to her throat, stroking the sensitive skin with his thumbs. Her lips parted, and when his tongue swept inside, her own dueled softly with it.

Groaning, he moved his hands to roam possessively over her back, to her buttocks, cupping them softly, pulling her close to nestle against his erection. Desire burned through him. It had been much, much too long since he'd held her. Her fingers threaded in his hair, tugging his mouth closer, but he eluded her, and began to trace her jaw line with hungry lips. One hand found its way to a firm breast and his thumb began to caress the aching peak. "I missed you, Susan," he breathed. "I need you so much."

"I missed you, too, Marcus," she whispered as she rapidly unbuttoned his shirt and eased her hands inside to caress the firm muscles. She'd almost forgotten how good his skin felt. She stroked warm palms over his chest now, smiling at the shudders that racked his lithe body at her touch. She bent her head to explore the hollow of his throat before moving to make tiny circles with her tongue around a flat nipple and then sucking gently. His eyes burned hotly into hers when she raised her head to claim his lips again. The shirt floated to the floor behind him just before he moved his hands underneath her dress.

Unwilling to waste time by moving to the bedroom, he drew her down to the floor and Susan straddled his hips. Desperately, he moved his hands down her back, searching for the zipper as her heat enveloped him. The dress went flying to a corner of the room. He raised himself up on his elbows and caught a dusky nipple in his mouth. He sucked on it gently, then nipped it lightly. Susan moaned long and loud and clutched her hands in his hair before urging him to lie back.

He loved to watch her, loved to see the expressions on her face. Her eyes opened and closed with every new sensation as she rose and fell in time to their ragged breaths. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her, making her body glisten in the soft light. He reached up to caress her breasts, raking his thumbs over the nipples before squeezing them gently. He sat up again to take the left one in his mouth this time. He lapped at it with his tongue before burying his head in the hollow between her breasts. He had missed the scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her. He lay back again to allow her more freedom of movement.

Oh, God, the feel of him! She'd missed him, but hadn't realized how much until tonight when he was hard and pulsing inside her. She savored every delicious inch of him, could feel every ridge. He filled her completely, perfectly, on every downward stroke. He chanted her name and rose to meet her again and again. As always, his response drove her onward. She closed her eyes, welcoming the rush of blinding heat that began to consume her. There was no measure in her strokes now. She just went on and on, riding the wave, reaching for the peak.

She was close; he could tell by her expressions and the way she was moving frantically. He grabbed her hips to impale her more deeply. He felt her tremble around him, and he lost what little control he had just as she arched her back and cried out, "Oh. Oh, God!" She sagged against him, and he held her tightly.

He felt her sobs even before he heard them. They were deep, anguished sobs that came from the pit of her stomach and racked her whole body. He let her cry. She needed it. She had held so much grief inside for too long now. He whispered soothing words that she couldn't possibly hear, but he said them anyway as he stroked her hair, her back. He planted soft kisses wherever his lips could reach. Finally, she calmed enough to raise her head from his soaked shoulder and look at him.

"You know, sweetheart, it's very bad for my ego if you insist on crying after we make love," he teased her softly.

She smiled, then chuckled softly through her hiccups. "That's one of the things I love about you. You always make me laugh."

"Oh! Even worse. You wound me to the quick." He rolled his eyes in mock despair, but he sobered quickly. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You don't know how much I've been hurting. . ."

"Tell me. I want to know what you've been going through," he whispered, gliding his thumbs across her face to smooth away the remaining tears. "I want to understand."

And so, sitting on his lap, she told him everything. "I was so angry and miserable, and I didn't know what to do. I thought you'd hate me for losing the baby. I know you wouldn't, but I was irrational. I just felt horrible, and miserable, and there was nothing I could do to get out of it. And, every relationship I've had has ended badly, or I've destroyed everyone I've loved. I didn't want to do that to you." She reached up to caress his face, tears glistening in her eyes again. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away, for not sharing our loss with you. I know you've been hurting, too. I realize that now. And I'm sorry for turning away from you when all you wanted to do was comfort me."

"I thought maybe I hadn't been understanding enough. I was hurting because we lost the baby, and because I thought I was losing you, too. I couldn't take that." He pulled her more tightly against him. "It took so long to win your trust, your love. I never want to lose you."

It was her turn to hold him as his own anguish melted away in hot, scalding tears. "Shh. Shh." She caressed his neck and back, rocking slowly back and forth, until he calmed somewhat. When the tears finally abated, they held each other tightly.

"Please don't shut me out again, Susan," he murmured. "You're the only thing that means a damn to me. I want to share every part of your life, good and bad. I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered, kissing away the last of his tears. She stood up and reached for his hands. "Come. Let me show you how much." She paused and arched an eyebrow provocatively. "That is, if you feel up to it."

He leapt to his feet, grabbed her playfully by the waist and nibbled her throat. "I think I just might be."


	7. Chapter 7

It happened when she was in C&C. She'd been having contractions on and off all morning. They were slightly uncomfortable, but nothing she couldn't handle. After all, it was supposed to get a lot worse, wasn't it? And she *was* a soldier who'd faced some daunting challenges easily enough, right? She rubbed her back now and again as she went over the docking reports with Corwin. This contraction was different. Firmer. More insistent. Her whole abdomen tightened as hard as a rock as hot hands squeezed firmly around from her back and down with ever increasing pressure. She leaned against the railing for support as she tried frantically to remember how to breathe.

It passed, but after only five minutes had gone by, another followed. It nearly bent her double with the intensity, this time adding pressure to her pelvic region and her thighs. Is this it, she wondered?

When she could speak again, she said, "Corwin, I'm going to Med-Lab. Alert Dr. Franklin." She slapped her comm-link. "Marcus, I think we're going To have a baby."

There was no reply. She tried again. "Marcus. Marcus, did you hear me?"

000

Just as Susan pulled the gown over her head, she felt a sudden warm gush of liquid. It seeped down her bare legs and puddled on the floor. Susan looked down in horror.

The nurse smiled reassuringly. "It's just your water, Ma'am."

Susan started to reply, but the next contraction hit her then, and it wasn't good at all. The hands that had merely squeezed before now slammed into her back. She cried out, tried to move away from them, but she couldn't. They held her down, immobile, and continued to grind into her. "Marcus!"

"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he said calmly, slipping his hand over hers. He'd run all the way to be with her. He was no longer ready to faint at the idea of the baby coming. Calmly he stroked her hand with his thumb. "Squeeze as hard as you need to. That's right." Her hand tightened around his as the contraction peaked, then relaxed as it slowly ebbed away.

"How are we doing?" he asked Stephen. "Is she all right?"

"Of course I'm not all right! This hurts, damn it!" Susan panted.

"Save your energy," Franklin admonished her, eyes twinkling. He turned back to Marcus. "Good. She's progressing remarkably well for a first labor. She's not there yet, but it won't be too long." His eyes twinkled at the two of them over his mask. "You'd better get into a gown while you have the chance."

Marcus nodded and discarded his robe, replacing it with the clean garment, all the while never taking his eyes off Susan. She looked as if she wanted to kill him, but also glad to see him. He watched as her face began to contort with effort and reached for her hand just as she reached for his and squeezed with all her might. Her nails dug into his skin, but he didn't mind at all.

"You're doing great," he said, sponging her sweaty forehead afterward.

"I don't feel so great," she murmured.

Several more intense contractions later, Susan began to feel hysterical. She wanted to push, but they wouldn't let her. She wanted the pain to be over with. She wanted to get this baby out of her. She reached out and grabbed the neck of her husband's shirt and pulled and twisted on it, strangling him. "This is all your fault! If I get through this I'm spacing you, do you hear me?"

Marcus just nodded.

Another contraction began. It was intense, hard, painful. It didn't help that she'd forgotten everything she was supposed to remember from their classes. The panic of the moment seized her and held her captive. She reached for Marcus' hand and held on for dear life.

"Yes. It's all my fault," he agreed. He didn't bother to remind her that she'd enjoyed all the activity as much as he had. "Now breathe."

"I can't!" She arched her back away from the pain again, but it followed her, never letting up.

"Look at me!" he urged.

She couldn't deny the command in that voice. She looked. His face was inches from her own.

"Breathe with me, Susan. You can do this."

She breathed with him. She had no choice. He wouldn't let her push him away-and she was relieved. She needed him, needed his strength and patience, his calm, his fierce determination that everything would be all right. Lost in the warmth of his gaze, she didn't feel the pain so much. She sighed when it was over and lay back.

"You're there," Stephen announced after a quick examination. "You can push any time you're ready."

"I can't push. I'm too tired," Susan murmured. She felt every eye in the room on her, and every one was filled with encouragement. Marcus squeezed her hand gently. She forgot how scared she was, how tired, how sore. With him by her side, it didn't seem so impossible. She could do this. "All right. I'm ready."

With Marcus supporting her back, she sat up and pushed with all her might. She barely heard his quietly spoken words of praise as she collapsed to rest before repeating the exertion. Again. And again. She felt as if she were splitting apart with each successive push.

Marcus watched anxiously, offering encouragement, a hand to squeeze, a shoulder to brace against. And all the while feelings of wonder, fear, and guilt pummeled him: wonder that their child was being born, fear that something would go wrong, guilt that a product of their love was hurting her so much.

"Do you want to catch the baby?" he heard Stephen ask.

Marcus blinked. He didn't know that she was that close already. He glanced at Susan, and was surprised, pleased, and confused all at once when she nodded and smiled. Earlier, she'd questioned his legitimacy, her sanity, and threatened several hair-raising tortures for him, and now she'd smiled at him. He supposed that it was all part of the experience.

"Ready?" Stephen asked. "Okay, Susan. Push. Make this one count."

The head came out, and Marcus was sure he was going to drop his baby. It looked so slippery, and his hands were shaking so much. But somehow, he managed to hang on to the tiny, wriggling, bundle of humanity as its body emerged and it loudly demonstrated how upset it was at coming out of its warm, dark nest into this cold, bright place. He looked up at his father and yowled angrily as Stephen cut the link between him and his mother.

Marcus reached out a tentative finger, and as his son grasped it in his tiny fist, he was completely humbled.

He looked from their baby to Susan and smiled. "It's a boy," he told her. "A beautiful, healthy boy." He carried him back to place him in Susan's arms. "Say hello to your Mum. You're going to love her."

As she held their son in her arms, she knew it had been worth every swollen ankle and lost meal, every sore back, every sleepless night. And yes, even worth the heartache of not too long ago. Here was her reward, her gift for trying again. She smiled through her tears and whispered, "Hello William."

She could have sworn he smiled back.

The End


End file.
